


Temptation, Frustration

by thedropoutandthejunkie (elenajames)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time, Sexual exploration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 13:30:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6471865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/thedropoutandthejunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She just looks similar to Jess. That’s all. </p><p>Yeah. Okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temptation, Frustration

Blonde curls. Sam thinks that’s what it is. Blonde curls, blue eyes, petite body. That’s what draws his attention. It has to be. 

 

_ She just looks similar to Jess. That’s all. _ Yeah. Okay. 

 

He tries to chalk some of it up to a brotherly/fatherly concern for a young woman who’s not as ready to be a hunter as she thinks she is. The job is dangerous, and even with Jody looking out for her, well. The more eyes the better, right? 

 

“Earth to sasquatch,” Dean chirps, whacking him on the arm. “We’re here.” 

 

With a jolt, Sam comes back to himself, scrambling to follow Dean out of the Impala. They lope up Jody’s driveway, ringing the doorbell in a way that feels strange when they’re not in their Fed suits. Alex answers, giving them a shy smile as the lets them in. 

 

“Hey, you made it!” Jody limps around the corner; she’s finally free of her crutches but the limp is a hang-on from the injury. She hugs them in turn, looking them both over with a critical eye. “Just in time to help with supper. Claire! The boys are here!” Her shout echoes through the house, and Sam’s just able to make out Claire’s yell of acknowledgement. 

 

Alex sits down at the table, working on homework while Sam and Dean are given vegetables to chop. Jody fishes meat and seasonings out, starting in on the chili. She snorts a little when the boys hand over their roughly chopped onions and peppers, but adds them to the pot anyway. There’s beer - Jody’s favorite local brew - in six-packs in the fridge, and she grins when Dean automatically pops one open for her first before grabbing one for him and Sam. 

 

The beer is hoppy, bitter on Sam’s tongue and it sticks like cotton in his throat when Claire finally appears, journal in hand. She sprawls out next to Alex, completely unaware of the eyes on her. Swallowing around the lump stuck in his throat, Sam drops his gaze and tries to laugh at the lame joke Dean’s been telling. 

 

He makes it through supper without drawing too much attention to himself. Jody’s got a fair bit of news to tell, despite their regular phone calls. Alex speaks softly about school and her plans for college. Claire doesn’t say much; she’s only been on a couple of hunts between classes at the local college, both of which she’d called to tell them about immediately. She has picked up a job in town, stocking shelves at the grocery store. Not much, but it brings in money to buy supplies. Sam works to keep his interest clinical, and when no one gives him the hairy eyeball, he figures he’s managed well enough. 

 

The spare room is fixed up with two twin beds - extra long, God bless Jody - and the boys waste no time in dropping off to sleep despite the early hour. Their last hunt had dragged on long, and they drove through the night to Jody’s to make their promised visit. They’re gonna need the rest either way; Jody has work that needs done, heavy lifting that she can’t manage with her leg yet and that the girls don’t have time to help her with between school and work.

 

* * *

 

Sam drops the axe down, swiping at the sweat threatening to roll down into his eyes with the back of his hand. His shirt is sticking to his skin, damp and clinging. Darting his eyes around, Sam whips off the tee when he doesn’t see anyone around. Sun beats down on his shoulders, but there’s enough airflow to cool him down. There’s only about a quarter of the wood left to go, and he settles back into the rhythm of chopping wood. 

 

“Nice show, Paul Bunyan!” Dean’s voice reaches him from the door of the garage. Jody and Claire stand beside him, and just knowing they’re there makes Sam want to tug his shirt back on. It’s filthy, though, making him cringe when he touches it. Instead, he stacks up the last of the wood in the shed and hangs up the axe on the hooks inside the door. His audience is gone by the time he finishes, and he takes the opportunity to scurry back up to the house, heading to the shower with fresh clothes in hand. 

 

Sam’s muscles are loose, aching a little under the pound of hot water. He rubs at his arms and chest, attempting to soothe them; instead, he winds up running his hands over his own abdomen, skimming long fingers through the skiff of pubic hair just above his cock. He shouldn’t, not when he knows where his fantasies have strayed lately, but he half-hopes that taking care of it now will save him from trouble later. 

Gripping his cock tight, Sam strokes slow and steady. Water isn’t great lubricant, and soap frankly burns if he gets it in his slit, so Sam turns his back to the spray, shielding his cock from the water. Not for the first time, he’s grateful for the generous precome he produces as it slicks the inside of his fist. Hoping no one can hear the squelch as he strokes his cock, Sam closes his eyes and allows his mind to wander. 

 

Sure, he’s got a few favorite memories, more than a couple guilty-pleasure fantasies, but none quite like this. He tries to avoid thoughts of Claire, focusing on Ruby, then Jess, then Piper; all good, but not what he wants. With a bite at his own lip, Sam allows thoughts of blue eyes and blonde curls to flit through his mind. He thinks about teenage-girl-soft skin and pretty pink flushed cheeks, thin little lips and the soft sounds he could coax from them with his mouth, cock, and hands. Just like always, Sam comes fast and hard, grunting just a little too loud when he finally shoots over his fist, white swirling down the drain between his feet. 

 

“Fuck,” he mutters, slapping off the water. He scrubs himself dry, yanking on clean clothes. 

 

It’s just his luck to run smack into Claire as he leaves the bathroom. Her cheeks light up red, and she stutters an apology before sliding around him and into the steamy bathroom. She heard him, of course she fucking did. 

 

“Jesus Christ, Sam. You idiot.” He wants to go for a run, work himself until he can’t stand or think, but it’ll be too suspicious when he’s freshly showered. Instead, he heads downstairs and allows himself to be roped into setting the table and helping Alex make tuna melts. It’s not as good as exercise, but trying to get the ever-withdrawn girl to open up to him a little helps. 

 

They spend a week like that, in a bizarre sort of domestic routine. Dean revels in it, working his ass off and eating his fill. Sam enjoy it as much as he can, but half the time he’s concentrating so hard at not looking at or touching Claire in any way that could be deemed inappropriate that it’s difficult to fully appreciate it. 

 

It’s actually almost a relief to get a call about a hunt, and some of the tension coiled tight in Sam’s gut eases when Jody’s house is in their rearview. He manages to shove most of the thoughts about Claire to the back of his mind; running from monsters and digging graves helps, leaving him exhausted as they go on a long jag of hunts. Sam sleeps solid, without dreams about Claire haunting him. 

 

Everything, of course, eventually goes to shit. There’s a pretty thing in a bar in Illinois that sidles up to Sam at the bar while Dean’s playing pool, wiping the floor with a few of the locals. She’s at least ten years his junior, a college student home for winter break, and very obviously willing to go home with Sam. Her eyes are brown, but her hair is long and blonde and wavy, and before Sam knows it, he’s signalling to Dean and leading the girl out the door. 

 

The girl - Cherice? Sherry? - wastes no time getting Sam into bed. She doesn’t even argue when he flips her over and slides between her spread knees. Part of him wishes he could do her bare when he sees how pink and wet her pussy is, but there are too many risks involved for that. Instead, he bunches her hair up in his fist as he slides into her, and she moans loud at the tug of her soft curls. 

 

Sam’s never been a selfish lover, oh no. He might be fucking Cheri rough and quick, fisting her hair tight, but he angles his thrusts to make it as good for her as he can, bending low when he can feel her getting close so he can stroke her clit with his other hand. She doesn’t even protest when he keeps going once she’s come, and he has to bite his lip to keep from yelling Claire’s name as he fills the condom. 

 

A quick kiss and a bright thanks, the girl shimmies back into her jeans and leaves her panties dangling from Sam’s fingers as a parting gift. He stuffs them in an empty beer bottle as soon as she’s gone, tossing it in the garbage and doesn’t even protest when Dean razzes him about the condom beneath it.

 

* * *

  
  


Jody thinks that hunting with someone as level-headed as Sam will be good for Claire. Sam thinks that the universe might actually be out to get him. There’s no good reason for him to say no, so he loads up the truck and Claire, and they head into Minnesota, following a lead on a string of disappearances. 

 

“You gotta slow it down,” Sam says, for what feels like the millionth time. Claire’s chomping at the bit, ready to go after the vengeful spirit they’re sure is haunting one of the local cabins. “Running headlong into a hunt has killed more than one good hunter. You gotta make sure you know exactly what you’re heading into.” 

 

Claire sighs and rolls her eyes, but dutifully takes the book Sam offers her and sets to reading.

They wait until near midnight to head out, Jody’s truck rumbling along in the dark, headlights cut as they roll into the graveyard. Sam does most of the digging, endurance higher than Claire’s, but she’s a good shot with the gun once the ghost makes its appearance. 

 

Sam’s just got the salt dumped over the moldering corpse when there’s a shriek from above. Heart in his throat, he flings gasoline out and scrambles out of the grave. He barely manages to drop in the lighter before the ghost manages to slash him open. Yanking himself to his feet, Sam’s eyes dart frantically over the shadowy graveyard. 

 

“Claire? Claire!” A soft groan  draws his attention, and he finds Claire sprawled out next to one of the bigger headstones. Instinctively, he pulls her into his arms, checking her over for injury. “Hey, hey, hey, Claire, can you hear me?” 

 

“Mmn, Sam. Ow.” Claire mumbles, trying to shift out of his hold only to make a pained sound and slump back. “Shit.” 

 

“Language,” Sam chides jokingly. It gets him a snort of laughter, and he manages to get Claire on her feet. There are quite a few spots that make her hiss, but no broken bones that Sam can find. They limp their way to the truck, Sam going back just to cover the smoky grave before they head to the motel. 

 

Claire carefully makes her way into the shower, leaving Sam to just strip out of his filthy over shirt and collapse on the bed. His heart's still racing from hearing her scream, and he doesn’t think sleep’s going to be much of a happening thing tonight. 

 

Rolling over when the bathroom door opens, Sam fully intends to take his turn. He stops dead short when Claire steps out with only a towel wrapped around her body. 

 

“Forgot clean clothes,” she mutters, leaving him to stumble into the bathroom as she rummages through her duffel for something to sleep in. 

 

It feels like a Herculean effort to not touch himself after that; instead, Sam replays her frightened scream in his head until his cock wilts.  _ She’s a kid, pervert, _ he scolds himself as he finishes his nightly routine, not quite able to make eye contact with himself in the mirror. Sleep doesn’t quite want to come, and Sam’s just about there when the bed dips behind him. 

 

“Sam?” Soft, sweet, little-girl voice in the dark. He almost wants to feign sleep, but Claire’s too smart for that. He rolls over to face her in the dark.

 

“What’s wrong?” 

 

“I saw you earlier. Looking.” Sam gasps, recoiling but a dainty hand lands firm on his chest. “I want you to look, Sam. I want you to do more than look.” 

 

He can’t even come up with a denial, mind scrambling and all he manages is a tight “I can’t.” 

 

“ _ We _ can,” Claire murmurs, sliding further up on the bed. “You can’t tell me there’s a good reason not to.” 

 

“You’re a kid.” 

 

“I’m of age.” 

 

“I don’t have pr-” 

 

“I have condoms in my bag. And I’m on birth control.” Claire grabs his hand and presses two fingers against a matchstick-shaped thing in her arm. 

 

“Dean and Jody-”

 

“Never have to know. Don’t tell me you can’t keep a secret, Sam.” 

 

Clenching his eyes shut even though there’s not much to block out in the dark of the motel, Sam reaches for every reason they can’t do this. He tries to swallow the sense of relief that trickles through him when he realizes he doesn’t have any more. 

 

Claire’s shadow moves away, then there’s a box landing on his belly with a soft thunk. She follows shortly behind it, shoving the blanket away so she can straddle Sam. 

 

“Touch me. Show me what you’ve been thinking about when you look at me.” 

 

Long fingers trail up Claire’s thigh, catching briefly on the hem of the shorts she sleeps in. Sam sucks in a breath when his fingertips hit soft, warm skin, and he can barely stop himself from trembling as he guides her shirt up and off. Reaching out, he fumbles for the lightswitch and manages to flick the bedside lamp on. A plain black bra contrasts sharply with Claire’s pale skin, and highlights the forming bruises she earned being thrown by the spirit. 

 

“Shit.” Sam can’t hold in the curse when his hand makes contact with smooth satin. He cups her breasts in his palms, rolling his thumbs over where her nipples just show against the fabric. Reaching around behind herself, Claire unhooks her bra, letting it fall down her arms and tossing it over the edge of the bed. 

 

Pretty, pink nipples, soft beneath his hands. They make Sam’s mouth water. He flips them over, rolling Claire beneath him so her hair splays over the bed and catches one nipple between his lips. It surprises him to hear her mewl, a sweet sound that contradicts all she wants the world to believe she is. Sucking gently, Sam tugs the nipple between his teeth and moves to the other, working it with this tongue and lips. 

 

Claire lifts her hips when his hands slide down to her waist and pluck at the top of her shorts. They join the rest of her clothes on the floor, along with the soft cotton panties beneath. 

 

“Am I going too fast?” Sam pants. Claire looks a little wide-eyed, but shakes her head nonetheless. She meets him halfway when he leans down to kiss her, sharp teeth nipping at his lip until he pushes down harder; Sam likes her fight, but part of him wants her to submit, to give in even if it’s just this once. 

 

Damp wells up to meet Sam’s fingers when he slides them between her legs. He means to stroke her clit, get her ready, but her legs clamp tight over his hand, and that reaction has him backpedaling. 

 

“Claire?” Sam brushes a kiss over her mouth, able to feel the shuddery breath she lets loose. “You don’t have to. You can say no.” 

 

“Shut up, Sam.” She pushes at his shoulder, urging him up so she can pull off his shirt. Her hands roam over his torso, brushing over the hair sprinkled across his chest and the pebbled skin of his nipples. Nails scrape gently along his belly, catching at the fine line of his treasure trail. 

 

Sam holds his breath and tries to stay still when Claire ventures far enough down to touch his cock. Her touch is exploratory, curious rather than knowing; the mere idea makes his heart race. 

 

“Off?” Claire asks softly, tugging at his waistband. Sam crawls backwards off the bed, shoving his sleep pants and boxers to the floor. He’s almost embarrassed at how hard he is, cock curving up toward his belly. Red flushes across Claire’s face, and she darts her eyes away from him as he makes his way back up the bed like she’s not sure she has permission to look. 

 

Sam lays down beside her, pulling her close rather than looming over her. “You can touch. Go ahead.” 

 

Warm skin shifts along his side as she edges closer, her pussy ghosting damp over his hip. Her fingers touch the wet tip of his cock and run along the rim of his head. Sam moans quietly, encouraging her to touch more. Claire’s hand doesn’t quite encircle his cock, but she strokes him anyway, letting him adjust her speed and grip until he’s moaning out loud. Sam has to nudge her hand away to keep himself from coming, and he tugs her into a kiss to give himself time to come down. 

 

“Can I touch you?” 

 

Claire breathes a yes against his lips, and goes willingly when he rolls over on top of her. He coaxes her legs open to make room for himself between them, taking in the slick pink of her with an eager eye. Her curls are soft and wet beneath his fingers. Sam explores her slow and easy, feeling wet plumpness of her lips and dipping just inside to touch her clit. She jerks a little when his fingertip touches the very end of it, and he murmurs an apology. 

 

“Easy. Like this.” Spreading her legs a little further, Claire circles her finger around her clit, not quite touching it. Sam follows suit and his cock twitches when she gives a little moan. 

 

Kissing at her chest and belly, he makes his intentions clear as he slowly moves downward. The first touch of his tongue at the very top of her pussy makes her suck in breath. He keeps his licks gentle, resting on his belly as he settles into eating her out. Claire rocks her hips slightly, pushing closer to his face, and Sam flicks his tongue a little more firmly, alternating with little sucks until Claire’s got a hand fisted in his hair. She babbles his name as she comes, pussy fluttering around the tip of his tongue as he dips it inside her. 

 

Sam slows down, easing her from the orgasm and only stopping completely when she unclenches her hand. She’s eager for his mouth on hers, chasing the taste of herself with her tongue. Slim legs wrap around Sam’s waist, pulling him in close, and he breaks their kiss to look at her. 

 

“Are you sure?” 

 

“Yeah. Come on, Sam.” 

 

They dig for the nearly-forgotten box of condoms among the sheets, and Sam walks Claire through rolling it down his cock. He’s glad she’s so wet, the thin layer of lube over latex hardly enough to suit his preferences, but the head of his dick glides through her wet. Sam rubs it gently up and down her pussy, and holding it just outside of her. 

 

“You say no or stop and I will, alright?” 

 

“I know.” 

 

Sam’s careful with his lineup, his first push gentle so he doesn’t go too fast or too hard. Her pussy’s tight around his cock, but not so much so as to be painful. Claire’s panting and clutching at his arms, holding perfectly still as Sam eases inside her. 

 

“Ow,” she breathes out right as he bottoms out, and Sam freezes in place. 

 

“Do you want me to-” 

 

“Fuck no, I’m fine, it just - a little sting right at the end. It’s okay.” A deep breath in and Claire relaxes even more around him, rolling her hips up a little in encouragement. 

 

The first pull out feels like it goes on forever, and Sam’s eager to bury himself back in tight heat. He rocks steady, in and out as he watches Claire’s face. She’s got a lip caught between her teeth, and he reaches up to tug it free. Moans spill out after it, breathy little things that tug at his gut. 

 

Sam slides that same hand down, thumb dipping between Claire’s lips to stroke her clit. He starts in easy circles and enjoying the way her mouth falls open as her head tips back. Instinct has her pushing up against him, hands running over his back and sides, nails occasionally digging into his skin; Sam halfway hopes she leaves scratches all over his back, a souvenir on his body in case he never gets this again. 

 

“Faster,” she manages to breathe out against his ear. He rubs over her clit faster and a bit harder, rolling his hips in the same steady beat. Claire tosses her head a little, nails sinking deep into the skin of his back and making Sam hiss. 

 

Claire comes pretty, a full-body quake running through her as she gives a little cry. She goes tight around Sam, so fucking tight that he can barely move, but he fucks her through the orgasm, hitting his peak just as she yanks his hand away from her clit. He buries his face against her soft neck, curls brushing his face and stirring with the breath of his groan. 

 

Sam holds onto the base of the condom as he pulls out, sliding it off and tossing it in the wastebasket. He falls to the side of Claire, pulling her against him. 

 

“You okay?” 

 

“Very,” she mumbles against his neck. “That was awesome.” 

 

Sam snorts at the reply. “You should pee. Helps prevent UTIs.” 

 

Claire laughs out loud at that. “Such a romantic. Great afterglow.” 

 

Sam grins sheepishly when she looks at him, but he can’t deny that he enjoys watching her pad across to the bathroom. She catches him looking when she comes back and smiles. 

 

“Got a second round in you?” 

 

“Not yet, but you probably do.” 

 

“Yeah, don’t think so.” Claire climbs back into bed next to him, pajamas forgotten on the floor. Sam drags the blanket over them both and spoons up behind her. He almost wishes another hunt would come up, so they wouldn’t be facing going home tomorrow, and he makes a mental note to check the papers before they hit the road in the morning. 


End file.
